


STAND UP AND TRY AGAIN

by ckret2



Series: No Kings Only Monsters (KOTM continuity / related oneshots) [7]
Category: Godzilla (2014), Godzilla - All Media Types, Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Character Study, Dorat!Ghidorah backstory, Empath Ghidorah, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mind Control, Pre-Canon, Unethical Experimentation, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 23:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: They don't know how to coordinate their strange, strained, oversized body between three different minds. They're commanded to fly and instead they fall. All they see is black sky and white dust and golden shards clattering around, like a kaleidoscope made from their own body.And still they're commanded, STAND UP. STAND UP AND TRY AGAIN.And they're powerless not to obey.(A KOTM Ghidorah backstory, drawing on both Showa & Heisei portrayals. With extra angst.)





	STAND UP AND TRY AGAIN

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompt: "Ghidorah prompts! climbing a mountain, first flights, passing requirements, annnd “Dancing Queen” by ABBA". I was, tragically, unable to squeeze in ABBA; but the rest made it in.

They flap twice, dragging their massive body into the air, feet lifting off the peak of the artificial mountain for the first time that day; but they feel far too large for this, and their balance is wrong, and as they try to stabilize themselves somebody takes control that he shouldn’t have. Their wings pump out of sync. They crash into the mountain and tumble to the ground.

The starry black sky and cold white dust spin dizzily around their faces. Shards of gold in their peripheral visions clatter around, like a kaleidoscope made from their own body. They shut their eyes, one head at a time, waiting for the spinning to stop.

A voice in their head commands, **GET UP,** and they are powerless not to obey. **PATHETIC! CLIMB BACK UP AND TRY AGAIN.**

Only one of them opens his eyes. It’s easier that way, without three different views tangling together, making the landscape throb like a migraine.

Slowly, they roll back over. Moving their body is like three different people trying to control the same marionette, each reaching out to grab a string and tug on a knee or a wrist or hip or neck, without any practice or instructions. Usually, one of them will grab hold of a muscle, tense it a moment to make sure no one else is trying to use it at the same time, and only then gradually move it. It’s slow going. A day where they do nothing but stand upright and raise their wings can leave them sore and exhausted from moving so slowly and holding their muscles so tightly.

Just standing isn’t good enough today. **FASTER!** Their masters think they should be better at this—better at everything—by now. They feel their masters’ forced patience turn to frustration and disappointment more and more frequently. They try to move faster.

One claims control of one wing. One claims the other. One controls one leg. Maybe like this? Take one big piece, instead of a single muscle, and focus only on that. Take turns. Crawl uphill jerkily. One leg, uncontrolled, is dragging; one of them takes control of both that leg and a wing, alternating between them. He loses their rhythm, they try to lift both wings at the same time, and their long necks and heads flop into the mountainside.

White dust puffs up and settles on their scales.

They consider staying there.

**GET BACK UP!**

They get back up.

It’s easier with one of them controlling both legs and the others sharing the wings.

They miss being small. They miss being separate. They miss living inside. They miss having pillows. They miss cooked food. They miss short necks. They miss when their heads didn’t throb and their muscles didn’t ache. They miss when their minds were their own. They miss walking and flying and moving without having to think about it. They miss when the masters and owners around them sometimes felt happy, instead of angry and frustrated and burning with a long simmering wrath. They miss _their_ owner, who would pet them and smile at them and love them.

They’re at the top of the mountain.

**AGAIN. STAY STRAIGHT THIS TIME.** The master feels irritated already, already convinced they’re going to fail. As if it’s so easy! How would all of them like being stitched into a three-headed monster and yelled at to do a hand stand?

Their burst of rage synchronizes them. Their wings spread wide and slam down. It’s the hardest they’ve ever flapped. They shoot into the air. Dust devils twirl down the mountainside.

They feel the masters’ fear.

Their anger pounds in their throats like a heartbeat, and each time it pounds they flap again, lifting higher, straining through the thin atmosphere toward the stars, like they can escape to another world…

The anger drains away.

They crash back down to the mountain.

It takes a long time before the dust settles and they can again see the artificial white hill with its glimmering black windows where the masters are watching. The masters’ fear is giving way to excitement, amazement, joy.

They think it felt better when the masters were afraid.

That thought scares them. They don’t know which one of them the thought comes from. That scares them even more.

But the masters are happy now. They have accomplished their given task and are exhausted by the effort. Maybe they’re done for the day, now that the masters are happy? Maybe they can go home at last, curl up on the ground between the fences, and sleep?

**THIS TIME, TRY GLIDING.**

Their heads droop.

But they’ll try to obey. They have no choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on [tumblr](https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/185713576152).


End file.
